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January 5, 2020

0700 Eastern Time

White House, Washington, DC.

The man wearing flannel pajamas snorted. "Keller, if you had a sense of humor I'd be laughing. Since you don't, you must have cracked up." He carefully placed the manila folder, brown with age, on the table next to the Veldt china coffee cup which he picked up, taking a gulp of the hot liquid..

Keller looked back impassively. As always, the President's Assistant Undersecretary of Scientific Intelligence was wearing an immaculate but drab suit with his tie perfect. "I assure you, Mister President, this is unfortunately true," he replied in his flat monotone.

The President of the United States put the coffee cup down, sending some of the brown liquid sloshing into the saucer. "Nazi scientists. Genetic experiments in the 1950's. All you need is flying saucers and aliens from outer space. You aren't going to tell me those are real, too?"

Keller considered for a moment, then decided to leave that file for another time. "Mister President, during the Truman administration certain experiments were continued. At the time, it seemed prudent in case the Soviets were..."

A busboy brought in a cart, serving the two men breakfast. After he left, President Hall opened the folder and looked at the contents, then closed it again. "Suppose you tell me the details."

It was all in the folder, but Keller knew that the President preferred to have the information summarized. "In 1947, Doctor Hans Zange was asked by the OSS to continue certain genetic research he had started during the Second World War. He was.."

The President interrupted. "Zange was a war criminal. Wasn't he convicted and executed?"

"The OSS felt his research had merit, falsified his execution and gave him a new identity."

"So much for morality. Then what?"

Keller patiently continued. "Zenge had a theory that it was possible to create an underlying set of DNA in humans that could be triggered later. His experiments continued through the 1950's, and eventually six hundred and seventy two test subjects were created."

"Created? Test subjects? By god, Keller, I hope you mean lab rats."

"No, Mister President." The Undersecretary shifted uncomfortably, picking up a fork and pushing the scrambled eggs around on his plate. "Two thousand women were given injections under the guise of a war on poverty wellness program. Of these, seven hundred forty eventually became pregnant, and six hundred seventy two gave birth."

"So what was this genetic stuff - what did it do?" Hall prodded. He glanced up, making sure none of the White House staff were in the room.

With a specific question, Keller regained his composure. "Given a specific chemical trigger, the underlying DNA would become active and rewrite the test subject's base DNA. Over a period of approximately two hours, the test subject would regenerate into another creature."

"This is idiotic." Hall tossed the file across the table, sending several documents spilling out. "It could not possibly work."

Keller took off his glasses and began to wipe them with a White House napkin. "I assure you, Mister President, it did. In 1962, seventy of the tests were... completed."

"I don't like the sound of that, Keller."

"Seventy children aged three months to five years were given the chemical trigger. Eight died from shock or other unknown factors. The remaining sixty two metamorphosed into animals. Andalusian horses, to be specific."

"That's ludicrous. Why would a Nazi.." Hall's words drifted to silence as Keller handed several black and white photographs across the table showing humans in various stages of transformation to equines. From the pictures, it was obvious that they had not changed to fully grown horses, but were foals.

"Zange was very fond of his horse," Keller stated. "Mister President, we have an emerging problem."

"And what is that? What could be worse... than the United States supporting an immoral outrage like this?"

Keller hid his annoyance. The President doesn't understand that some things are necessary to protect the freedom of America. "The chemical trigger was felt in the 1950's to be impossible or at least unlikely to replicate. When President Nixon found out about the program, he ordered it be terminated. The six hundred fifty four remaining test subjects- several died in accidents- were never informed of their participation in the project, and are leading normal lives."

"What about the sixty two that your freak agency turned into animals?" Hall demanded. "What about them?"

Keller again removed his glasses. "They led normal lives as well, Mister President. As horses." Keller looked at Hall. "Mister President, we are not evil. We did what was necessary to safeguard America and our way of life."

Hall slammed his fist on the table, smashing one of the saucers. "How the hell are you protecting America by turning people into animals?"

The undersecretary was taken aback. "This was only the first step, Mister President. Science needs it's building blocks. You were not told about this project, nor has any other President been told since Nixon except for President Reagan. He understood the reason for this research, to stay ahead of the Communist threat. The rest of you did not need to know."

"So why are you telling me now, Keller?"

"The Chinese."

"The damn Chinese are involved now? How did they find out?"

Keller shook his head. "They didn't and to our knowledge have not compromised our security. But by coincidence, they stumbled onto the chemical formula for the trigger and are now shipping it to the United States. We have intercepted and banned the shipments, but several hundred thousand of the product got through."

"What product?"

"Candy mints. Mint-O's." Keller handed another file across the table. "A difficult to synthesize chain molecule happens to be an excellent sweetener and preservative. In the 1950's it cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to create a single ounce, but it appears that a Chinese government chemical factory that was built to produce nerve gas was converted to make candy. The equipment is quite sophisticated and capable of synthesizing the molecules needed to trigger the DNA."

"So you have to warn them. Warn all the victims of this outrage to not eat candy." Hall pointed his fork at Keller. "Now."

"We cannot, Mister President. Due to funding cuts, we've lost track of some of the test subjects. There's also another issue."

"Another issue. What the hell is this one, Keller?"

"Many of the test subjects now have offspring. We aren't sure of the consequences."

The leader of the free world stared at his eggs and toast, now cold. "You'd damn well better find out."

March 15, 2021

1500 Central Time

Interstate 94, North Dakota

The other drivers at Knightbridge Trucking considered Dan Plover odd. While most of them decorated their truck cabs with decals of scantily clad women (or men in the case of female drivers) Plover's featured what one other driver derisively described as 'My Little Pony'. And though he was one of the senior drivers and could choose whichever route he wanted, he took the isolated North Dakota run that most of the other drivers despised. The roads were narrow, the towns few and far between, and the scenery monotonous.

For Plover, it was relaxing. He had been abandoned as an infant and raised in foster care, without any adoptive parents. He had always felt ill at ease among other people- 'doesn't socialize well', as his high school counselor had written- and preferred the long haul route, frequently at night, where he had to interact with as few others as possible.

The other benefit for him was the scenery. Though the other drivers looked and only saw open plains and distant mountains, Plover saw the herds of wild horses. His heart yearned to be with them, to run free, away from the memories of his past. The horses had always deeply appealed to him, and as he grew up unwanted in the foster care system he had obsessively read every book on horses that he could find. Even as a youth, though, he had realized that expressing the desire to be a horse would have tagged him as mentally unstable, so he kept it to himself.

As he approached the town of Medora, North Dakota on Interstate 94, he noted that he was running 'out of hours' in his log book and would have to stop for the mandatory 12 hour rest period. Actually he planned it that way on almost every trip, so that he would have to lay over at the Medora Truck stop, and would find a ride to the Roosevelt National Park to see the wild horses. And since this was a Friday run, he didn't need to return his rig until Sunday evening and could take Saturday off. Grinning, he took the River Road exit and pulled into the River Road BP Truck lot, found an empty slot and left the big Kenworth's diesel idling as he climbed from the cab and walked into the store.

He was a regular, and Jayne Santos the cashier greeted him by name. "Hey, Dan. The usual?"

"Sure, spot for two nights, coffee, and a rental car." Though he could have taken the Kenworth, the big truck wasn't exactly ideal for going into the park, and he would be 'using hours' if he was to drive it. A rental car for personal use didn't count.

Santos looked at Plover, knowing that he was a bit unusual. There were quite a few truck drivers who came through, and quite a few tourists stopped on their way to see the mustangs, but Plover was unique in that he did both- for most of the truckers, an overnight stop meant a visit to Medora's one strip club or just a night's sleep. She kept up on the wild horse gossip and spottings, and knew Plover would want to hear the latest. "Big Jake and his band of mares are up around Wind Canyon Trail, near the Little Missouri river," she said. "Nobody's seen Hooper or his mares for a couple days, they must've gone up into the hills."

Plover was familiar with the two mustang stallions and their bands, but asked about a third, older horse. "What about Cass?" he asked, as he was rummaging through the candy display by the cash register.

Santos looked pained, knowing the buckskin and his small group of aging mares was one of Plover's favorites. "The wolves finally got him. Sorry, Dan." It was part of the harsh reality of the park- some of the horses would be rounded up every year and sent for adoption, but generally the herd stallions would not- they tended to be the higher quality horses, and sound management was to leave them in the ecosystem to pass their quality on to their offspring.

"Damn," Plover said softly. He looked down at the empty rack of peppermint candies. "No Mint-O's?" he asked.

It was against park rules to feed the horses, but Santos suspected correctly that Plover would sneak them some treats. She'd gone with him a few times to the park, and had been amazed to see the wild creatures walk to him fearlessly, as if they could sense he was one of their own. "There's a recall on Mint-O's. Something about they didn't list the ingredients correctly on the label." She looked at him conspiratorially. "Tell you what. No point in me throwing them away, you just don't know where you got them, okay?" She reached under the counter, pulling out a large box with about two dozen of the candy rolls in it, and handed it to Plover. "On the house," she added.

Plover smiled. "Thanks, Jayne. By the way, you free tomorrow morning? Like to go visit the park with me?"

Santos had other plans, but mentally canceled them. "Dan, I'd love to."

"Great. I'm going to take a quick run over there before they close, and I'll pick you up in the morning."

He walked out of the truck stop, slightly depressed at the news of Cass' death, but buoyant at the thought of seeing the horses. And of Jayne. She seems to like me, to understand me. But...would she accept Dan the weirdo who wants to be a horse? He looked both ways, then crossed River Road to the small Avis car rental office. Entering, he negotiated the rental of a minivan, noting that he had reservations for a subcompact, the agency had none available and getting the lower price as a result. Taking the keys, he found the small Dodge Caravan, tossed the box of Mint-O's onto the front seat, and headed down River Road through Medora's small business district. There was only one stoplight; on one corner was the entrance ramp for westbound I-94, on another an old gasoline station that had been converted to an adult nightclub, and on a third a small convenience store. The other held a vacant lot.

Arriving at the park entrance, he signaled and drove in, stopping briefly at the gate station. The ranger recognized him, a frequent visitor. "Back again?" he asked. He didn't offer Plover a map of the park, knowing that he wouldn't need it.

"For the weekend. Is the park crowded?" He hoped not.

"Too early in the season. I think you're about the only one here," the ranger said. "Gonna be real cold tonight, remember closing time is 9 PM."

"Thanks," Plover replied, shifting the Caravan to 'drive'. He drove slowly along the road toward the side road to Wind Canyon, then suddenly had an instinct to drive up to the even more sparse Frank's Creek. Driving to the gravel lot, he found it empty.

Parking the van, he got out after slipping a few rolls of the candy into his pocket. The Frank's Creek area was starting to look a bit forlorn, as it's trails were more rugged than Wind Canyon, fewer visitors came, and the Park Service focused it's meager resources on maintaining the more popular area. There was a kiosk with a faded map showing the trails. Plover frowned as it had been vandalized, with someone painting 'KURILE RULES' on the glass and scratching it with a rock or knife. He began to walk down the path, smelling a bit of cold air. Probably going to snow again tonight. Hope not too much, Jayne won't want to come.

He could also smell something else. Horses? It was a friendly, comforting smell that most people wouldn't have noticed. He stopped and listened silently. Most people wouldn't have heard them either, but he could hear horses nearby and left the trail.

Coming over a hill, he found a small group of five mares in a small grassy gully. Normally they'd have their stallion, or sometimes even two or three, but it was only mares. They watched him, their ears up, as he approached. It was against park rules and strongly recommended against for safety reasons, but he came close to the horses, perhaps fifteen feet away. "Cass is gone," he said softly. "Why haven't you joined another stallion?" Normally, the mares would have either found another band for safety, or a roaming bachelor stallion would have found them, but perhaps Cass hadn't been gone long enough.

Sitting on a large slightly mossy rock, he looked back at them. Knowing he wasn't a threat, four of the mares resumed grazing. The fifth- a blue roan- continued to watch him. The lead mare. She's making sure the others are safe, now that there is no stallion. Most of the horses in the park had names- the park was very popular with tourists, and the Park Service actually had a guide book so that they could tell the horses apart, with details of their age, their dam, and presumed sire. Plover had memorized the book, recognizing the mare as 'Andrea'. Like most of the mustangs in the park, she was relatively small, perhaps fourteen hands, with fine features passed down through generations of Spanish Barb ancestors freed by the Conquistadors mixed with escaped stock from the settlers or the Plains Indian tribes. Centuries of harsh conditions ensured that only the hardiest quality survived to pass on their genetics. Occasionally, even in modern times, a horse would escape and join the herds, though in the well managed Roosevelt National Park these interlopers were generally captured and either returned to their owners or adopted through the mustang rehoming program.

Eventually, Andrea looked down, as if to continue grazing, then instead walked over to Plover. He sat still as she came up, flared her nostrils then began to smell him, her nose finally finding the pocket of his jacket containing the candy. He smiled as she nudged him, much as a domestic horse might to her owner, hoping for a treat.

"Don't tell the rangers," he said, reaching into the pocket and opening the foil of the candy. He pressed one of the mints out of the roll, holding it flat in his palm, and Andrea carefully picked it up with her lips. As he gave her a second, another of the mares looked up and came over. Quickly Plover was surrounded by all five; with Andrea the alpha mare occasionally pinning her ears to warn the others that she was to have priority for the treats. Plover reached up impulsively, rubbing her face, and the mare pressed back, enjoying having it scratched.

But it was getting late, and Plover had run out of mints. He got up, touching the crest of the mare's mane. "Sorry, Andrea. I have to go before the park closes." The mares started to follow him as he walked back toward the trail to the parking area, but stopped, apparently not wanting to go over the hill. The wind was picking up, some snowflakes were already falling, and the small gully would be good shelter for the night.

As he reached the crest of the hill, Plover stuck his hands in the jacket's pockets for warmth, finding that there was a single candy that had fallen out of the roll. Not wanting to have the candy melt in the jacket pocket, he took it out to toss it away, but paused and turned back toward the mares, thinking to offer Andrea one last treat. They were a bit too far away. Dan Plover the foster child had learned to not waste food, and popped it into his mouth. It didn't taste quite right, slightly metallic...

The world spun. Plover lost his balance, falling to the ground and felt as if he needed to vomit, like the worst hangover of his life. Intense pain filled his stomach, as if it were dissolving in acid, and he cried out as the snow began to fall, coating him with a soft white layer. He gasped for breath as every bone in his body, every joint, seemed to be on fire.

Suddenly he heard a nicker. A mare's muzzle reached down and touched him, concerned. Andrea smelled the...it wasn't a human. It was acting strangely, and looked wrong. But it smelled of a foal, a colt. The other four mares crowded nearby, their maternal instincts driving them to defend the creature that was no longer human, but not yet fully one of them.

Mercifully, the cold snow dulled some of the pain. After the initial fifteen minutes, Plover's limbs were clearly distorted and no longer human. His face already was pushed out into the beginnings of a muzzle, and light fur covered nearly his entire body. As his feet shrank and distorted, his shoes came off, but the rest of his clothing remained. Am I growing a tail? Could it be possible, some magic is changing me to a horse? Did the mares do this to me, did they want a stallion? Thoughts raced through his head, along with confusing waves of dizziness. I have to get back to...where? Jayne... my name is Dan something...

He kept gasping with each wave of pain, yet each was less intense. The mares all watched, concerned that the foal was still lying on the ground. Andrea began to push at the foal with her muzzle, urging him to get up. He had to be able to move, to run with the herd, in case the wolves returned.

I'm a horse. I'm actually a horse. I have to get up, I'm hungry. Plover pushed his forelegs in front of him as he'd seen horses do hundreds of times, then pushed with his back end, getting up unsteadily. Andrea began to lick him instinctively, trying to stimulate the colt that she was becoming possessive of- the other mares would defer to her, but none had a foal by their side and all would have stolen him away. She pinned her ears at them in warning, then turned and pushed the colt toward her flank. Milk. I hope she isn't dry. But I have teeth, can I graze yet? He tentatively took one of her teats in his lips and squeezed gently, then pulled more aggressively and was rewarded with a stream of mare's milk. It was sweeter and not as thick as he'd expected, but his own instincts were telling him it was right.

After the colt had his fill, the mares moved down into the gully for shelter in the growing snow. The colt stumbled- he still had a human's shirt on, but the pants had fallen off- and Andrea pulled at it with her teeth. By the morning she would pull the foreign material away from the colt.

My name is Dan. I'm a horse. This is right, this is...what was I? The mares were comforting, and he lay down to sleep under their watchful eyes. He woke up several times during the night to nurse, then lay down to sleep again. The ground was cold, but the mares stood over him to protect him from the snow.

To Be Continued...